


Numb

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Holding Hands, Hugs, Kissing, Memories, Paralysis, Rowena Gets A Hug, Rowena Needs A Hug, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: While helping Sam and Dean out on a case, Rowena gets paralyzed.





	Numb

What was supposed to have been a simple hunt had turned into a nightmare when Rowena threw a hex bag at the monster and, as the magic shattered its body from the inside out and drained its life with every beat of its blackened heart, it spat out its poison at her. The smelly, sticky substance drenched her arms, legs, and torso, soaking into her clothes and sticking to her skin like glue, acidic, burning. The paralytic had gone to work straight away; as soon as the liquid came in contact with her skin, numbness took over. Her arms fell limp, legs turned into jelly, no longer able to support her weight, useless, unreachable, as if they'd been severed, as if the feeling she had of them being there was merely phantom, false. With nothing to hold her up, she stumbled to the ground.

Understandably so, you freaked out. Protective as you were, bless you, you fell to your knees right beside her, tears and sobs on standby, ready to discharge on a wordless command. Before you could throw your arms around her, as you always did when she was hurting and you didn't know how to help her, Sam and Dean grabbed a hold of you, each claiming one arm, and pulled you backwards, away from her. The poison was highly potent, they reminded you. Touch it, and you would end up on the ground beside her, unable to move, unable to do anything but look around in horror, imprisoned inside your own body.

You kept struggling until Rowena gave you a small nod, grateful to at least be able to move her head, confirming the Winchesters' words. Until the poison was off of her, your skin was not to be in contact with hers. It was too much of a risk, and she wasn't willing to put you through the same hell she was trapped in over a hug, no matter how much you craved it. No matter how much _she_ craved it. _You've been through worse, Rowena,_ she reminded herself. _You've been beaten, tortured, burned._ Paralysis was nothing in comparison to those things. She wasn't in pain, other than the slight, hammer-like thudding on the back of her head from when it hit a rock as she fell down. It would leave a nasty bump, but it was nothing, a miniscule pain in comparison to the things she'd lived through. Really, it couldn't even be called pain. Discomfort. Unease. Mild headache. Annoyance. Anything other than pain.

Pain was fists and feet slamming into her body, repeatedly, for hours on end, without a second of a missed beat. Pain was fire, eating at her skin, at her muscles, at her every nerve and cell, devouring her alive like acid. Pain were the memories, the nightmares, the flashbacks she couldn't shake off, sometimes for days on end.

Paralysis wasn't pain, _couldn't_ be pain, because pain was worse. Pain _hurt._

She could get through this, she told herself. This was temporary, a few hours at most. As soon as the poison was off of her, it wouldn't be long before she was in control of her limbs again. How long had it taken that young man, one of the victims she'd met earlier? Seven hours? And that was with the poison still clinging to his skin — it had taken it seven hours to lose its potency. If you and the Winchester were to manage to get her clean, Rowena was sure it would take her even less to recover.

The brothers seemed to be thinking the same thing. As soon as they got her to the bunker, cleverly wrapping her up in three blankets so she wouldn't get poison over the backseat of their car, Sam, her designated carrier, lowered her on the couch. Rowena swallowed back the feeling of shame that had taken over her, cheeks rosier than usual, flushed traitorous red. Her body was useless. She could move her head and blink, but what good did it do to her, when she couldn't utter a word, when she couldn't even curl a finger? She was powerless, helpless; centuries of working on her power, perfecting it, increasing it seemingly gone to waste. What good was her magic when she couldn't use it to help herself when she needed it the most?

She was dependant on the mercy of her girlfriend and two hunters. You, she had no issue with. You had seen her weak before, had seen her at her worst, her very worst, and were always there with a helping hand and words of love Rowena knew were genuine. You loved her, you cared about her, and you wanted nothing but the best for her — you'd shown it countless times, both with words and actions.

Sam and Dean, on the other hand…

Rowena's past with the brothers was difficult, but the three of them had grown to look past their differences. Aside from you, they were the only ones willing to give her a chance at redemption. Dean would need some time, but Sam was more than ready to forget the past and look forward to the future. Their shared trauma at the hands of the devil had brought them closer, made them into acquaintances, possibly — dare she say it — friends. For all the two of them cared, fate could stick its prophecy up its arse. She wasn't going to die, and Sam wasn't going to kill her.

Their newfound friendship, though, didn't make it any less humiliating for her to have to rely on them for help.

"I'm here, honey," you said, moving to stand right in front of her. Your eyes were puffy, but so far no tears fell. You were doing a surprisingly good job at keeping it together. Usually, you would have started crying as soon as your eyes found her on the ground. Pride bloomed in Rowena's heart, chasing away some of the panic. You were being strong for her, she realized. As much as it pained you to see her in distress, as it had every other time, you were doing your best to remain calm — as calm as you could be, given the circumstances.

Ever since Lucifer had killed her the second time, you'd appointed yourself her caretaker, her protector. Rowena sometimes complained about it. She was hundreds of years old; she didn't need you freaking out over a paper cut or a nosebleed. She'd survived worse, much worse. And that was exactly the point — you didn't want her going through worse. Never again. Walking in on her burnt up remains had scarred you for life. You'd thought you'd lost her for good. Then, when her resurrecting casket of magic went to work, you'd spent hours doing nothing but staring at what was left of her body rebuilding itself, knitting itself back together.

When her sense of hearing had returned, after what had seemed like eternity, the first thing Rowena had heard was the sound of your voice. You must have spent hours talking to her; she'd never had the heart to tell you she wasn't able to hear the very start of the one-sided conversation. You knew she couldn't respond, but you didn't care. You couldn't do anything for her, couldn't even touch her without causing her pain, so you'd talked. You'd talked about your childhood, about funny things that had happened to you at school. You'd talked about your favorite TV show; you didn't like the couple, you'd said. You'd wanted the main character to end up with the bad boy rather than her safe, secure boyfriend.

Months from then, you'd gotten your wish.

Even when you couldn't do anything, you'd found a way to do something. Hearing your voice helped, gave Rowena a sense of security amidst the agony she was trapped in. You couldn't make her pain go away or heal her burns, but you could be there for her. You could talk to her, and, later, hold her hand, and, when her eyes had grown back, lie next to her and look into them as you talked and talked and talked, and she listened intently, focusing on the sound of your voice rather than the pain that was ravaging her from the inside out, as cruel and merciless as the monster that had inflicted it.

"I'm right here."

Rowena gave a nod, lips curling into a small, barely noticeable smile she knew you noticed. You always noticed. _I know you are,_ she thought. Her eyes stared into yours, as if doing so would let her into your mind, let her share her thoughts directly with you. _Thank you._ If only she could say it out loud. If only she could throw yourself into your arms, bury her head in your chest, and let you hold her like you did every night.

A few more hours, and she could do exactly that. She just had to be patient.

It was Sam who suggested washing her. You beamed at the idea, and only a split second later your expression turned grim, sullen, as realization of what exactly it entailed dawned on you. Sam and Dean would have to be the ones to do it; you weren't strong enough to move her body on your own, to lift and scrub and clean her thoroughly. At least two people were needed for the job — and, sadly, due to your lack of physical strength, you weren't one of the candidates.

You were outraged at the preposition, understandably so. Nobody got to see Rowena naked but you — especially not two hunters who, up until fairly recently, would have preferred her to be dead. They weren't doctors; you couldn't count on them to be professional, to handle her with respect that she deserved. The tone of your voice said so quite clearly, even if your words didn't. You didn't trust them with her, naked, vulnerable, and fragile. You insisted on doing the job, aware of your capabilities — or lack thereof. You would find a way, just as you'd found a way to tend to her burnt up, broken body. Just as you'd found a way in the months of nightmares and breakdowns that had ensued.

Sam and Dean, though, weren't so sure.

Neither was Rowena.

"Do you want us to do it?" Sam asked, moving to stand right before her. He looked her in the eyes, genuine, earnest, the look of a man who wanted nothing more than to help, whose heart was shattering as he watched a friend suffer, helpless to do anything about it. No, not helpless — useless. Rowena wanted to laugh. Poor Samuel, always the martyr, even when it came to someone like her, someone who didn't deserve it. "I promise we're not going to do anything you don't want. We just want to help."

Rowena nodded. She considered rejecting the offer. The last thing she wanted was for the Winchester brothers to see her naked, but the desire, the desperation to get out of the prison of her body made her swallow her pride. Not that she had much more of it left. Having to be carried around like a doll had eaten up the last remainder of dignity she'd had left. The looks she was getting didn't help; compassionate, pitying, they only made her humiliation grow faster, harder, swallowing her whole bit by bit with every glance thrown her way.

What would be the point of refusing help? After all, the brothers were doing everything they could for her. They didn't have to give her a ride and lay her down on the couch. They didn't have to hover over her like concerned parents, discussing the best and safest way to help her. They didn't have to do anything — hell, they didn't even have to let her live. Nothing was stopping them from putting a witch-killing bullet in her head when she was on the ground. A newbie witch like you wouldn't have presented much of an obstacle — but they did. They did more than most people had. The least she could do was cooperate.

It was, after all, for her own good.

You weren't pleased with her decision, sighing, concern written all over your face. Instead of arguing, though, as Rowena had expected, you simply nodded. You respected her decision. You may not have agreed with it, but you respected it. You respected _her._ Rowena's heart swelled, erupted like a volcano filled with love, warm, comforting, safe. _Stay,_ she thought. _Don't leave me._ She may have consented to being washed, but she didn't want to be alone with two big, strong men, naked and paralyzed. Them meaning her no harm brought her little comfort. She needed someone familiar there with her, someone who knew her, who knew every inch of her body in detail. She needed _you._

As if you'd read her mind, you said, "I'm gonna be there, okay?"

Rowena nodded. Her eyes burned, tears pickling at them, threatening to fall. She willed them back. There would be time for crying later. Right now, she needed to be strong.

She kept her eyes closed throughout the entire ordeal. Her clothes were stripped off of her, to be thrown away later, and she was sat down in the bath. Sam and Dean put on makeshift protective suits, which consisted of raincoats, rubber gloves, and face masks. One stood behind her and held her in place, while the other maneuvered the shower to spray her. Hands were all over her, touching her, caressing her, rubbing and scrubbing at her skin as if it were a piece of dirty cloth. The water was warm; Rowena focused her mind on that, gave herself away to the soothing feeling of it.

She could feel your eyes on her, watching her like a hawk. She could imagine you in her mind, with your arms crossed over your chest and a stern, determined look on your face, warning, almost threatening the brothers to behave without a single word uttered. Rowena wanted to chuckle. A real savage you were when it came to her safety, a guard dog, vicious and protective, ready to attack at the slightest hint of danger. She'd never had someone like that in her life before; someone who loved her so much, _too_ much, who was willing to risk anything and everything for her, who took care of her even when all hopes of her recovery were lost. Someone who didn't let her past define her, and had given her a chance when everyone else had given up on her.

After what seemed like eternity, Rowena was clean. The brothers wiped her skin and hair dry, wrapped her up in a large towel to form a makeshift dress, and carried her to one of the guest rooms. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, soft and warm underneath her, welcoming to her numb body. She allowed herself to open her eyes. The walls were white, and the room was fairly empty, save for a closet and a bedside table. It was small but cosy; not exactly Rowena's style, but charming enough. She was in no position to choose. The fact that Sam and Dean had allowed her into their home and had washed her free of the poison was accommodation enough. She wasn't going to be ungrateful.

 _Thank you,_ she though, looking up at them.

"Get some rest," Sam said, sending her a small smile.

What else was there for her to do? It wasn't like she could get up and walk away. She was glued to this bed until the poisons effects wore off. She gave a small nod, and he nodded back at her, smile never leaving his face.

"Try to sleep, if you can," Dean suggested.

Rowena nodded at him, as well, though she knew she wouldn't be able to fall asleep in this condition.

The two left a minute later. As soon as they were gone, Rowena felt a sudden weight on the bed next to her. She tilted her head sideways and found you laying on your side, shoes off, expression twisted with concern. You reached for her hand and squeezed it, your grip tight, strong, as if you hadn't held her in ages, when it had been mere hours. For you, that might as well have been an eternity.

An invisible weight lifted off Rowena's shoulders at the touch. She could breathe easier now, she realized. She could feel you, could feel your warmth on her skin, familiar and safe. She hadn't realized how much she was missing it.

"I'm here, sweetie," you said and flashed a big, loving grin.

 _I know you are._ You were always there, even when she didn't deserve it. You stood by her when everyone else had abandoned her. You liked her when she was more than ready to leave you for dead if she needed to, and loved her when she was barely sure she even liked you. You were a miracle. Rowena was still in disbelief that she could call you hers.

"Are you comfortable?" you asked.

As comfortable as she could be, given the circumstances. She nodded.

"Need anything? Water?"

She shook her head. You were the only thing she needed, and you were here.

"Want me to put some clothes on you?"

Another head shake. She'd been undressed by others. She wanted to do the dressing up on her own. A few hours in a towel wouldn't hurt her.

"Want a blanket?"

She didn't want that, either.

You gave a nod in acknowledgment."Want me to talk to you?"

 _Please,_ Rowena thought and, finally, nodded. She could use a distraction.

So you talked. You talked about the newest book you were reading, about all the twists and turns you'd stumbled on in it so far. It wasn't Rowena's preferred genre, but she listened. She absorbed every single word that came out of your mouth like a sponge, paid attention to every little thing, every detail of knowledge you shared with her. It was important to you; she could tell from the enthusiastic way you were going in about it, smile big and eyes bright, lost in the world of fiction, at least for a little while.

Rowena knew this was bothering you. You didn't let it show, did your best to keep on a strong, tough facade for her sake, but she knew. You couldn't hide anything from her. Just like that day over a year ago, that horrible, horrible day, you were an actress playing apart — that of a woman who had everything together, who laughed in the face of obstacles instead of crumbling. The woman who could handle watching the person she loved lying motionless, unable to do anything about it.

 _You're doing your best,_ Rowena wanted to tell you. _You're here._ She wasn't alone. She wasn't scared. She wasn't in pain.

Unlike back then.

Cold shivers gathered at the back of Rowena's neck and cascaded down her spine as the memory hit her. The door opening. Her turning around casually, expecting to see you, only to see eyes of ice staring into hers, a wicked smirk playing on their owner's mouth. A hand grabbing her neck, fingers squeezing at the sensitive skin, leaving her breathless. She could still feel them pressing into her throat. Her breathing fastened, quickly followed by beats of her heart. The muscle pounded at her chest like a hammer, wild, frantic, almost painful.

 _No,_ Rowena thought. _No, no, no!_ She closed her eyes, but she could still see it — she could still see _him_ — as bright as day, as if he were standing right before her again. She could see eyes of blue melt into a glow of red, the color of blood, of pain and torment that ensued only seconds after. She could see his face — not the mask he wore for the world to see, but the truth that lay underneath it, dark and cold and terrifying. Her eyes had burned, but she could still see it, could feel it burrowing itself into her mind to stay there for the rest of her life. Then she was on the ground, and her skull was crumbling under immense pressure, stomp after stomp after stomp, until she could feel nothing but pain, her entire body throbbing, drenched with blood that had pooled around her in a thick puddle. Then came fire, and with it agony worse than anything she'd ever experienced, its intensity putting even the pain of her crushed skull to shame.

Then, as life slowly, terribly slowly, left her, there was bliss.

Not even half an hour later, she was alive again, and pain was back at full power.

"Rowena! Rowena!"

She was shaken out of her memories by your hands on her shoulders. You were kneeling beside her, worried out of your mind, panic oozing out of your every pore. Rowena was crying; she only realized it once her eyes focused on yours. Her vision was blurry, as if someone had draped a veil over her eyes. Sobs tore from her throat, quiet, weak, like whines of a puppy too hurt to cry out loud. _He's not here,_ she told herself. _He's not here. He's not here. You're here._

Lucifer was dead. This time, he wasn't coming back.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you asked, trying your hardest to remain calm. Your hand moved up to her cheek and began stroking it, gently, lovingly. "Does anything hurt?"

Rowena shook her head. If only this wound was physical; it would have healed a long time ago. The Devil's face was seared into her mind for all eternity, an open, painful wound on her soul that would never heal. She could learn to live with it, but she couldn't make it go away. It, along with the memories, would stay with her for as long as she lived.

A whimper escaped her at that, and in response, your hand found hers once again.

"Hey, hey," you soothed. "It's okay. Calm down." You lowered your forehead on hers, a touch of skin over skin.

You were here. Unlike last year, you were with her. She wasn't alone. She could see you; she had eyes, healthy ones, no archangel to burn them out and leave her, helpless, in the dark. Her skin wasn't burnt. You could hold her hand as tightly as you wanted, as tightly as she needed you to hold it, without fear of causing her pain. And soon enough, she would be able to return the favor.

Soon enough, yes. Because she wasn't burned alive by the devil — she was paralyzed. This was the Winchesters' Bunker, not that hotel. She was safe.

"That's right," you said, as her breathing gradually slowed down. "You're doing great, honey. Such a good girl."

 _I'm not a child,_ Rowena wanted to say. A part of her, though, appreciated the encouragement. You had no intention of infantilizing her. This was just your way of reaching out to her, of showing her you cared. You were protective of her; it was in your nature, and you showed it accordingly.

"Good girl," you repeated. Your lips widened into a smile, as encouraging as your words. You used your thumb to wipe away her tears, then started to stroke her damp hair. "This'll all be over soon. I promise. You're gonna be okay."

 _I know I will._ Because you were with her. Even if she wasn't certain of her recovery, Rowena would have still had hope. All because of you. You'd been with her through everything. She wasn't afraid to be weak in front of you; hadn't been in almost two years. You had ways of making her feel like things would be better, even if all hopes were lost. You trusted her, believed in her, loved her, something not many people had done. Even if she were to remain paralyzed for the rest of her life, she knew she would be alright for as long as you stayed by her side.

"Try not to get upset, sweetie. I know it's hard, but try to stay positive."

 _Don't get upset. Stay positive._ She could do that. She nodded.

You grinned. "Good. You're doing real good. I'm proud of you, Wena."

Rowena gave a small smile at the nickname. It used to annoy her, but with time she'd grown to like it. It was charming, unique; no one had ever called her that before. Another one of the many things you'd given her.

"There you go. Such a pretty smile." Your face lit up at the sight. You loved her smiles. "I love you."

 _I love you, too,_ Rowena thought, but could only nod in hopes you'd understand.

You did. You brought her hand to your mouth and pressed a kiss to it, then leaned down to kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. Rowena basked in the sensation. She missed kissing you, missed holding you and curling into you like a cat — your comparison, not hers. _Soon,_ she told herself. Very soon. An hour, maybe two, tops. She just had to be patient. She wasn't in pain, she reminded herself. No part of her was hurting, not even the bump on the back of her head. She was safe, warm, and comfortable. The monster that had paralyzed her was dead, just like the Devil. Long gone, never to return. There was nothing for her to worry about, nothing for her to fear.

With a kiss to her cheek, you laid down next to her. You rested your chin on her shoulder, hand firmly holding hers, a wordless promise that you were here, that you weren't going to leave her. Rowena knew you wouldn't. Your presence in her life was one of the few things she could count on, a reliable, steady constant.

 _I'm sorry for being difficult._ She wanted to weep again, but she held it back. Crying would do her no good, and it would only worry you further. You were concerned enough as it was. _I'm so sorry._ She would never roll her eyes at you again when you wanted to help her, she promised herself. She wouldn't scoff or insist she was fine when she clearly wasn't. She wouldn't dismiss your concern. Even if it was something as minor as a papercut, she would let you in, let you make sure it wasn't serious. You loved her, and you wanted what was best for her. Sometimes, it made you come across as overbearing, which in turn made Rowena shut you out and reject you. Never again. It was time she got used to someone taking care of her. She wasn't alone anymore. She didn't have to suffer in silence, didn't have to build walls to protect herself and put on facades for the cruel, wicked world to see.

You started talking again. Rowena listened as she had before. Like earlier with the book, she wasn't particularly interested in the TV show you'd recently started watching, but she took in every single detail you shared with her. Maybe, once this was all over, she would give it a chance. She wouldn't like it — it didn't sound like something she'd be into — but she would watch an episode or two with you to show you that she cared, that your interests mattered to her even if she didn't share them. Was there merchandise of the show? She made a mental note to look it up later. Maybe she could surprise you with a figurine of one of the characters, or a shirt with a quote. A small token of appreciation.

You talked for almost an hour, the topic changing every ten minutes or so. Every now and then Rowena would flash a smile to let you know that she was listening. Her hand remained in yours, limp, trapped in your grip that sometimes grew tighter in emphasis of your words. Your fingers tightened again, in sync with your excitement about some movie that was coming out soon and that you wanted to see. Rowena would take you. She would find tickets online in the best cinema in the country and take you. You would eat popcorn, quietly laugh together at funny scenes, and make out in the dark.

Her smile grew with excitement. She could already imagine the two of you there together, holding hands and laughing. Your eyes shining so bright. Your mouth frozen in a happy smile. The happiness on your face. It was a perfect fantasy. And it would come true.

As if on instinct, Rowena's fingers squeezed back. You stopped talking, wide eyes staring at your linked hands. She followed your gaze, and sure enough, her hand was clutching yours with equal ferocity.

Her heart jumped in joy. Was this real? Was her body working again? She looked down to her feet, the blood-red of her toenails glistening under the fluorescent light. She tried to wiggle her toes, first those on her left, then her right foot.

They moved.

Rowena couldn't help it — she giggled like a schoolgirl talking to her crush, squeaky and undignified. The paralysis had worn off. She could move again, could get up and walk and run and do anything and everything she wanted. A breath she hadn't known she'd been holding left her mouth, deep, long, relieving, as if weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She pressed her palms to the bed and, using her arms for balance, rose up into a sitting position. She was panting, one heavy breath after another escaping her trembling lips.

"You're back!" you exclaimed happily, unable to hide your ecstasy.

"I—" _I am,_ Rowena wanted to say, but her voice broke, hoarse, raspy. The word scratched at her throat like a knife, cutting at her from the inside out on its way to freedom, sharp, deadly, aching. She gave you a pleading look. "Wa-water."

"Of course! I'll be right back!" You pressed a quick kiss to her temple, then ran out to get her what she asked for. Barely a minute had passed when you returned, beaming as if you'd won the lottery. Rowena smiled; you looked happier than her, and she was the one who'd been paralyzed for almost two hours. Strange creature you were. Strange but lovely, extremely caring and loving. Her first genuine second chance.

Rowena took the glass from you and took a big swing, gulping down as much water as she could. The cool liquid soothed her throat, dry and achy from disuse. She downed it all in one go, hungry for relief, then, handing you back the empty glass, took a deep, long breath. _I'm okay._ She repeated it to herself over and over, like a prayer to some unreachable deity. _I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay._

"How are you feeling?" you asked, setting the glass down on the bedside table.

Rowena smiled. "Good." It was one of the rare times when she gave an honest answer to that question.

"Anything hurt?"

"No. There's a bump at the back of my head, but it's nothing."

Frowning, you reached out a hand to the back of her head to inspect it. Rowena hissed as your fingers pressed against the injury. You muttered an apology and pulled your hand back as if you'd been burned.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I hit a rock when I fell," Rowena replied.

Sympathy spilled over your face like tears. "Oh, honey."

"I'm alright," she assured you. Instinctively, her hand clasped yours, tiny fingers twining with yours into a loose, gentle knot. It had been two years, and she still couldn't get used to you worrying about her. Even back when she was evil, when she was the living stereotype of a wicked witch, you cared. It was surreal. There were times when Rowena wondered it if was all a dream, if you were nothing but a hallucination her mind had conjured up to battle loneliness.

You took a seat next to her on the bed and brought your hand to her cheek to cup it. "Don't do that again," you said in mock strictness.

"What?"

"Get paralyzed. And hit your head on a rock."

Rowena chuckled. "It wasn't exactly my choice."

"I don't care. Don't do it again."

A playful smile flickered on your lips, eliciting her own. "I solemnly swear I will not let a monster spit on me and paralyze me, and hit my head on a rock ever again." Her voice was all drama, theater actress quality. Were she standing up, she would have bowed.

You burst into laughter. Rowena laughed along. She missed this; missed the little moments of simplicity, missed the joy, the carefreeness. It had only been two hours, but it felt like eternity since she was last herself.

"Darling?" she said after a moment of silence, face growing serious.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"For what?" you asked, confused.

"Being here."

"You know you don't have to thank me for that," you told her.

Rowena sighed. She knew, of course. You would always be there for her, and she would return the favor in a heartbeat. There was more to a relationship than kisses and casual outings. There was sacrifice, care, encouragement, and, most important of all, love. Not many people would have endured being woken by screams and kicks almost every night for months on end without love. Not many would have stayed in a messy room sprayed with blood with a stinky, burnt up body for hours, talking to it and, eventually, taking hold of its hand, if they felt nothing. You loved her; you truly, utterly did. You taught her to open up, to trust you, to love again with nothing but kindness, with nothing but love you, against all odds, managed to develop for her. And for that, Rowena was immensely grateful.

She shrugged.

You giggled. "You're adorable! Come here!" Your arms opened wide, and, before Rowena knew it, she was enveloped in a hug. She buried her head in your chest in an instant, instinct taking over, and put her own arms around you. "Wanna go home?"

"Please," she said dramatically, feigning desperation. "This bloody place will kill me."

"My little drama queen," you teased.

"I am just being honest," Rowena argued.

"Sure." You didn't believe her. She wasn't sure he believed herself. Pulling away from the hug, you said, "I love you."

"Likewise, darling."

She loved you much, much more than she could put in words. And she always would.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my lovely editor, OswinTheStrange.
> 
> This fanfiction is inspired by a crying scene from a fanfiction written by my friend UltimateFandomTrash.


End file.
